The Balance
by Miandrethal
Summary: Revolution is not something fixed in ideology, nor is it something fashioned to a particular decade. It is a perpetual process embedded in the human spirit.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

Inescapable Sadness

The kettle was whistling, but Jina paid no attention. The water was hot and scalding, running over her hands and turning them a blistering red. She didn't noticed; the burning of the water seemed to drive the pain away. She turned off the water; the feeling of the faucet underneath her hand was trivial as the scorching metal burned her hand slightly.

Finally the sound of the kettle hit her brain, though she knew she'd heard it the whole time. Just being in the kitchen made time stop, made her mind blink slightly, brought memories back. Her mother said that she needed to move, but the therapist decided that staying in that apartment would be much better. She removed the kettle from the stove, pulled a teacup from the cupboard and poured hot water into the cup. She pulled down a vanilla teabag and started to steep the tea in the hot water. Her mind started reeling. Lemon. She needed lemon. She pulled a lemon from the refrigerator and realized that she needed to cut it.

She stared at the drawer that held the knives. Those sharp objects, the serrated edges, they would cut the acrid, yellow flesh of the lemon, making the sweet juice flow. She shook her head. She couldn't be afraid of knives, or what she would do with knives in her hands. Her mind and her eyes turned from the drawer to her own wrists. Long sleeves covered them, but she knew what lay underneath. Scars that ran as thick as the sleeves, as thick as the pain that they represented. She gulped and put the lemon down. Her tea would have to be tasteless for the night.

"What do you want from life, Jina?" her therapist asked in his throaty baritone. She didn't know the answer to that. Just a month back she realized that all she wanted from life was not to live it. Now, she was being asked what she wanted out of a life that she didn't want to live. It was ironic. Scary, sad, and it made her bitter inside. She could do nothing right not even take her own life. She supposed it wasn't hers to take. It may have been selfish, but she knew that life would have been better had she not had to live it.

It was five minutes before Jina realized that her therapist was staring at her like he sometimes did. His eyes were a strange brown that seemed to look deeply into her soul, but they only looked, they never said anything. She realized that she hadn't answered. There was no answer, so she gave him a generic answer, one that would allow him to ask more questions.

"Happiness."

"What brings you happiness?" he asked her again.

"Nothing at the moment."

"Jina. I know it may seem as if nothing is in front of you, but you must understand that life will get better. You just have to take everything one day at a time. You're alive. You're a survivor. Life will get better. Well, it looks like our time is up. See Marisa outside to pay and schedule our next appointment." Jina was ushered away from a fifty-five minute session sixty dollars poorer and nothing to show for it. She met Marisa in the lobby, paid for her session then walked outside into the massive building. There was never any time for exploring. Her mother had taken her out of school after the "incident." That's what they called it, the "incident." An "incident" was something that was subordinate to something else, a minor occurrence. By saying that the scars on her wrist were an "incident" made it sound trivial and small. It wasn't trivial and small. The word incident was bureaucratic and pretentious, belittling. The fact that she was in therapy was belittling. All she wanted to do was to be left alone to sort things out herself. She wanted to cut the pain directly from her body, emerge herself in happiness or numbness so that she could never feel the inescapable sadness.

"Miss, isn't this your floor?" a man with a nice face said in the elevator. She realized that she'd ridden all the way from the twentieth floor to the first without even taking in the experience. She was so far out; so far gone that nothing came to her mind. Reality wasn't real anymore. She smiled at the man and ushered her way from the elevator and made her way onto the street.

The thing that she liked most about New York was that she couldn't see the sun, not even when outside. She found it comforting to hide from the yellow and orange rays, to escape the blue of the sky. It wasn't dark; the sky was just hidden from view by the monstrous skyscrapers that gave the city an eclipsed concept of night and day. There was no night and day. There was no actuality; it was just a limbo of time, what Jina loved the most. She walked towards her apartment ignoring the twinge of fear she felt as she walked into the crowded sidewalks. The world would have been better without the people in it.

Her apartment was dark, frighteningly clean and pitch black. She'd found a way to keep the darkness inside. She knew when it was day, inside the apartment shown a silvery blue while the sun glowed luminously outside. When it was night time, she sat humbly in the dark, the only light her computer. When she was in the light there was chaos. There was talking and busy people doing things, asking questions, making noise. There was always the background noise, the voices ruminating in her head, bubbling and gurgling in her mind like flies or frogs or locusts. There was never enough quiet, never enough peace to allow her to think, to connect her mind. Her therapist had prescribed some pills but they didn't work. Jina had stopped taking them months ago; she wanted something else, something helpful. Her computer brought her peace and quiet. It was just the gentle humming of the fan that caused her to concentrate, to connect and relax. She simply sat at the computer, staring at the muted screen, trying to focus on the screen. The computer was the future; it was her future. Within the screen she could see her body relax, the tenseness jus fade away. Her concentration settled on a single pixel that was discolored, a strange shade of green. Within that pixel she could see her future. She could see the future, her mind became one and she closed her eyes.

"I don't know who she is. She doesn't look familiar, and her clothes are strange," a voice said. Jina's eyes were still closed. In the back of her mind she wondered who was in her apartment and why they were there, but she continued to keep her eyes closed.

"Do you think she's an Insensible?" a male voice asked. The voice was comforting to Jina. He seemed to be concerned about her. She, to them, was apparently in a comatose state.

"No. She doesn't look like one, but one can never be too careful, Trowa."

"You're right, Duo. We should take her in. We can test her when she wakes up."

"Looks like she's waking up now," Jina moved, opened her eyes and looked up at the two men that were talking. They held guns over her, cocked and ready if she was going to do anything. She wasn't in her apartment, panicked settled in and she sat up quickly. The two men cocked their guns and held them at her ready to fire at any time. One man had green eyes, was tall and muscular, she could tell despite his heavy and unrevealing, dingy clothes. His face was thin and handsome, with a thin-set jaw and a aquiline nose. She considered if he smiled, and knew that he would set warmth on her chilled heart if he did. He had no smile lines on his young face; she knew that he didn't smile a lot. The other man had a refreshingly beautiful face. His hair was long, reaching down his back in a sensually thick chestnut braid. His eyes were the strange color of violet and indigo set against one another, purely unique and shining. They shone even in the darkness of the place where she was. His cheeks were plump and childlike, but his face still held a dewy masculinity that was only found in teenagers. His body, however, deftly illustrated that he was a fully-grown man, at least adult age. He was broad shouldered and strong, tall and hard, masculine. His voice was deep, throaty and warm with a twinge of sarcasm. In her mind it had only been a few moments, but by the looking at their faces, she was seriously staring at the men.

"Where am I? Who are you? What's going on?" the three questions left her lips in a flurry of confusion. The green-eyed man dropped his gun lower and walked towards her.

"Are you an Insensible?" Trowa asked. Jina looked at him strangely.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jina whispered. She surveyed her surroundings. It was dangerously dark in the room, with only a few orange lights burning. The smell was close to that of a dank sewer and the humidity around her seemed to burn her body and twinge her nose and make her eyes water. It was sulfur. She knew the smell, knew the acrid taste in her mouth and the pain in her eyes and throat. She choked.

"An Insensible, from up top," the violet-eyed man pointed upwards and Jina looked up for the first time. There was no ceiling to the room; there was no room. They were outside. There was deep orange fog covering the sky. Or maybe the fog just looked orange because of the sulfur. She could barely see above the thick haze, but what she could see were buildings hovering high in the air beyond her sight.

"Up… top?"

"You say those words as if you've never seen this sight before," the green-eyed man commented. The violet-eyed man looked closer at her, noticing a small necklace that she was wearing. The necklace seemed like an everyday necklace that one could get at any mall chain jewelry boutique, but to the violet-eyed man it was a sense of salvation. A black leather strap bore the Chinese symbol for "dog" on it; the violet-eyed man dropped his gun and he dropped down to his feet in homage, the green-eyed man followed suit. Jina stood back, confused.

"What is going on?" Jina asked again.

"Mistress, you are our salvation. You were in the prophecy. You have come to save us. Come, we will take you back to our headquarters. Despite her worries, Jina complied.

Their headquarters were small. It was a little room that was situated underground; Jina realized that it was an abandoned subway shaft. The streets seemed familiar, and she at once realized that it was New York. She had no idea how, but she'd traveled into the future. She thought on the walk towards their headquarters that she was dreaming, so she slapped herself. No, she wasn't dreaming. The smells were too real, the pain of the slap too painful; the choking sensation from the sulfur was too intense to be a simple dream. She looked down at her wrists, the scars were there. The scars were never present in her dream.

"Can you explain to me what is going on," Jina stopped in mid-stride through the subway shaft, demanding an answer. Trowa and Duo stopped and turned to look at her.

"You see, we don't really quite know ourselves. We were out on patrol and found you passed out in the middle of the road. We figure you for an Insensible but it turns out that you're wearing the seal of the chosen," the violet-eyed man touched her necklace, Jina pulled away then touched her own necklace.

"My Chinese Dog necklace?"

"Yeah. There was only one other person that wore that, and she's been taken by the Insensible. She was our leader until her capture."

"Leader for what?"

"Look, let's just keep walking and it will all be explain, okay?" The green-eyed man said.

"I'm not walking another step until someone explains something to me."

"Look, my name is Duo and that's Trowa. We're not going to hurt you; we really can't do that much explaining because we really don't know. All we know is, that we found you. You must be hungry and you have one hell of a bump on your head. So, we're trying to take you to shelter and patch up that bump. So, please, follow us," Duo said walking off. Trowa followed suit and so did Jina. She was more annoyed than anything else.

They walked about a quarter of a mile south until they came to a door. Trowa knocked on it, whispered a few words and the door was opened with a metallic loud thud. All three of them entered. Lanterns hanging against the wall lighted the passageway; it was all very primitive and indescribable. The one called Duo took Jina's hand and led her quickly down the passage to another door that was opened quickly.

They were brought to a simple room where there were only three lanterns shining a dull orange. Jina gripped Duo's hand tighter as she saw something move within the dark confines of the room.

"We found her on the street passed out in the middle of the road. We thought that maybe she could have been and Insensible, but she wears the seal."

"She does, does she?" a deep baritone came from the darkness. The man walked into the light and Jina could see the most beautiful blue eyes. His hair was messy in a way that seemed to work with his face. He was of Asian decent, with a very broad chin and a completely masculine face. His face was in a tight-lipped scowl, daunting and fearless. He looked at Jina, and his eyes seemed to bore into her soul. They were tough, hardened, and almost emotionless. Jina was instantly quickened. She was almost frightened by his presence, lost in his eyes and his face. Much like the others, his clothes were militaristic in fashion, olive cargo pants, combat boots, thick cotton shirt and comfortable jacket. He didn't wear dog tags, but Jina felt as if he did, the ensemble would be complete.

"My name is Heero Yuy. You wear the seal of salvation. You seem quite frightened."

"Not frightened, confused. I want to know what is going on."

"We are rebels, fighting a cause that we seem to be slowly losing."

"What cause is that?"

"Against the Insensible, that's what we call them. The Insensible are the comatose state in which most of this society lives their lives. From the time we are born, we are given a dosage that affects the hypothalamus, which turns off our emotions. We become robotic, mechanical. We are lust free, anger free, emotionless beings. The upside is that we're free from chaos and destruction, the many things that ruined human society before. The downside is that there is no laughter, no joy, and no creativity. All those things are not allowed. As for us, the rebels, we stopped taking our dosage and therefore are in violation."

"So, what does this have to do with my Chinese Dog necklace?"

"Our leader, before she was taken a few days ago said something about your necklace."

"Where was she taken?"

"She was taken by the Insensible. They have probably sentenced her to death."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Rebel Queen

They'd stripped her of her clothes and given her a fresh pair that only the Insensible wore. She was still in her sterile cage, a place where they kept all of the rebels until they were sentenced to death. She had offended, greatly, and now she would pay with her life. She looked in the mirror at her image. The brown skin reflected greatly off of the dour black tunic. It was long and somber, like she was going to a funeral. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun. They would kill her in the old clothes, the clothes that she'd worn when she was a child, the clothes that she'd given up for cargo pants and combat boots.

Her cell of rebels was under attack. Many men had been killed to protect her. Now, it was up to Yuy and his men to protect everything that the rebels had been fighting for, which wasn't a lot. She'd left them with a description of the seal from the oracle, but that was only one trinket to go on. She couldn't die, she couldn't allow herself to be killed, or the cause of the rebels would die with her. She closed her eyes and swallowed deeply and imagined her Trowa standing in front of her. She imaged the first time she was able to feel emotions, the first time she realized that a simple kiss upon the lips was more beautiful than anything she'd ever felt. She couldn't let all of those memories, those emotions be lost, she had to keep fighting.

After being stuck in an Insensible jail for more than a week, she'd gotten used to their scheduled questioning and feedings. They were, of course, only accustomed to doing things methodically and mechanically, living by a code of perfection over chaos, coldness over emotion, war over love. Humans were not ever meant to live that way. Humans were flawed not flawless; humans were mistakes, beautiful, perfect mistakes. The mirror told her nothing other than her life was slowly creeping towards an end. Slowly and surely, she would find what the heavens had to offer. She knew that if she'd taken her dosage, this fear of death would not overcome her as it did now, her emotions would be free. Since her absence of the dosage, so many things reeled through her mind, and she felt free, weightless. She could see herself for whom she really was. She was naïve, listless, inhuman. Cold, set apart, angry, passionless, passionate, confused, juxtaposed, connected, together; she was every human emotion and none at all. Her green eyes, her brown hair, her chocolate skin, everything was open and freeing. She was frightened and self-righteous. A jolt on the door tore her mind away from the mirror. Her capturers wanted to speak with her.

"Miss Adelphia, how are you on this fine evening?" his eyes were black as unpolished diamonds, as was his hair. Yet his skin was ivory, not yellow as many of his Chinese heritage would have been. He wore a black coat, similar to that of a Jesuit priest's robes, but with a Mandarin collar and large black buttons down the front.

"Is it evening? I wouldn't know, you keep it so balled up in here," she responded sarcastically.

"Your sarcasm is not appreciated."

"Neither is your lack of emotion, Insensible."

"We've been through this Roddy. After seven days of heavy interrogation, threats to your life, sore lack of lighting, and even worse food, you still hold yourself in such high righteousness as to not refer to me by my name."

"Wufei, you are a traitor," Roddy said, almost spitting with venom and anger.

"A traitor, how adorable. Your adoration is touching."

"Who's being sarcastic now?"

"Oh Roddy, I merely saw the light. My emotions were killing me, making me chaotic. They make you chaotic as well. Wasn't it peaceful without them? Didn't you feel the quiet? Didn't you understand the calm? Wasn't it wonderful?"

"I don't want to remember. Even with the questions, the voices, the confusion, my mind reeling, I don't want to remember, I don't want to know."

"You and your rebels aren't happy," Wufei said walking behind Roddy, touching her neck. She shied away, curling herself more into the stone table. The room was too white to focus on anything but the contrasting black clothes that they both wore.

"How would you know? You have no emotions. You know not what happiness truly is." Wufei scowled and leaned in clothes, smelling Roddy's hair.

"Neither do you." Roddy turned around and pushed him away, he caught her wrist and slammed her, face forward, against the stone table. He leaned over her, the front of him pressed tightly against her backside, and pinned her there. She squirmed.

"When is my death sentence?" Roddy spat out angrily, trying to push away. Wufei smiled happily into her ear. He almost laughed.

"Death sentence? Oh no. A beautiful creature as you put to death, they wouldn't dare. No, you will be handed a worse fate. You see, they are making a stronger dosage, one that you only have to take once a month. You shall be the first test subject. Then, sweet creature, when you are truly sedated, we shall marry. It has been promised from the "Father."" She struggled against his ever fixed grip until he let her go and stepped away from her, but not before taking a strong whiff of her hair. He pushed her down to the ground; she refused to cry. She refused to let any Insensible see the sadness, the emotion that lay within her mind and heart. They understood nothing; they would carry out with the plan whether she pleaded or not. They were heartless, careless, one couldn't even call them humans, and they wanted to keep her alive, if you could call an emotionless life living.

Trowa, she believed the green-eyed man was named, showed her to a small room with a hard cot for a bed. He stood at the door, put his gun down and helped her get settled.

"I still don't quite understand," Jina said, looking around her sparse quarters. Trowa looked at her with bemusement.

"It is difficult, I am sure. I am sure your world is much more beautiful for the understanding of emotions. You seem so happy."

"Yeah." Jina simply nodded her head. She felt nothing but she couldn't allow this poor man in front of her to see her apprehension. He turned to leave, but she realized that she didn't want to be left alone in this place. It felt scarce and alone and she missed the comfort of her dark, city apartment.

"Trowa. Tell me, why do you fight this fight?" Jina asked and sat down on the cot, her eyes turned attentively towards Trowa. He looked at her, then down at the gun that he'd picked up, then out of the door. He sat down the gun once again, closed the door and leaned against it.

"When you stop the dosage the first thing you feel is scared. Not really scared, because there is protocol for when you stop your dosage. I stopped mine voluntarily one day. I was in the IOC, a pretty high-ranking officer, and she was my superior. She was so beautiful, so amazing, so strong and serene, graceful, but those emotions only tugged at my senses. The next day I stopped taking it, the dosage, so that I could understand what was happening. I felt love. I lusted for her, for her touch. Do you know what it is like to not understand what love is?" Trowa looked up at her as he felt her grab his hand.

"I'm afraid to tell you this, Trowa, but even without the dosage, you can never understand love."

"That's refreshing and wonderful," Trowa said gathering up his things and turning to leave the room.

"Who was she? The person you speak of, who is she?"

"The Rebel Queen, Roddy Adelphia," Trowa smiled bittersweet and left the room, shutting the door behind him subtly.

"So, you think it will work on her?" the blonde woman asked. Her dark eyebrows arched subtly above her almost pupil less blue eyes and she smirked evilly at the equally blonde doctor. His lab coat was white, a stark contrast to the Insensible uniform of pitch black sever robes.

"She is small, this dosage should take affect within a few hours. I'm not sure how sane it will keep her, however. She is quite strong emotionally. She hasn't had the dosage in almost a year, it could make her mentally a vegetable," the doctor looked over his glasses at the woman. He was severe in methods as he dropped random substances into a small vial, she watched only halfway interested in the process of making the dosage. She was only interested in the results. Her superiors had told he to make sure that the process was successful, and she would.

"Why does 'Father' want her to be put back on the dosage when he so clearly ordered the others to be executed for their crimes against the system?"

"Such things are classified, Dr. Winner. Your job is not to know, but to do."

"I was just asking, Ms. Catalonia. I would never pry where I need not pry," he said, looking back down at his vials and droppers. She walked behind him, staring over his shoulder. She could tell that this physically annoyed him, her staring, but she continued; his annoyance was irrelevant. She leaned in and whispered into his ear.

"When was the last time we sparred? Do you remember?" he nearly dropped his vial.

"I believe a month ago. You won. I still have the scar." She leaned in and he could feel her breath on his collar.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she said, touching the spot just under his right kidney. He shook, put down the vial and turned to look at her.

"Ms. Catalonia, I really must concentrate on the dosage. You want it to be successful?" he said, and she modestly removed her hand from his person. She walked over to the other side of the room, her heels clicking against the floor. Everything in the room was pristinely white, almost blinding, except for Ms. Catalonia's IOC uniform. Hers was different than most of the females in the IOC. She was a high-ranking officer in the Insensible Offenders Corp. and was allowed variations upon the theme of the uniform. Her skirt was shorter, her heels higher, and Dr Winner could almost see the outlines of black underwear underneath the tight black jacket. There was always something between he and Ms. Catalonia, ever since their sparring, a small flirtation had emerged. The only sound for moments was the click-clacker of her heels as she paced back and forth upon the floor. Dr. Winner still couldn't concentrate.

"Dr. Winner, when was the last time you denied yourself a dosage?"

"Voluntarily or for scientific reasons?" he hadn't even recognized it, but she'd snuck behind him and was leaning into his ear.

"Voluntarily," she whispered breathily. Shivers tingled his spine.

"Not in a couple of years. Not since out last real match, when I won."

"I believe we both won that match, Dr. Winner." The memory was still fresh of their passionate duel. Her scent wafting with the quickness of her foil, the clinks of the metal against the metal, and their sleek, graceful movements which looked like a pagan ritual. They were beautiful when they fought, especially when the dosage was denied, but they would never tell anyone. He felt her hands on his shoulders, pushing down the tense muscle that lay underneath the lab coat. He closed his eyes, slowly surrendering to the sense, the feelings that lay underneath the dosage.

It was almost noon; time for his next dosage, for the next implementation of the drug that would allow him to suppress his sensual nature. His head lolled back on his neck and she leaned in to smell him. He was woodsy and sensible, like the commissioned soap but something more passionate, more him. He smelled like a desert breeze, and she bit her lip. He turned and held her wrists as their eyes met burning.

"Dorothy, we are not heathens. We need to take our dosage before we make a big mistake." She was breathing heavily, as was he.

"Then lets make that mistake, Quatre" she responded. All he could do was watch her, her hair a bit mussed, her breast heaving underneath the heavy black jacket, her lip caught savagely between her teeth. They probably looked like animals deprived, hungry. This type of lust was forbidden. If they were caught between dosages, lustful and unrestrained, they could be put to death much like the rebels.

It was for this particular reason that Quatre Winner, the leading doctor on emotion hormone research, had been given the challenge of making a once a month dosage. He was on his last trial, a human trial, and Roddy was to be his first guinea pig. It had come to the IOC's and "Father's" attention that the reason why there were so many rebel outbursts was because of the three dosages a day system. There were times when even the strongest government official and rational citizen would slip and not take his dosage, having to suffer the hell of having feelings for the next three hours or so with their emotions nagging them. Some even believed that the emotions they were having were liberating, freeing, and became a rebel. It wasn't that simple. Usually the fight for emotions was just as violent as the fight against, much like Dorothy and Quatre were having at the moment. It was just known that a once a month dosage would be a lot stronger, therefore a lot better. Instead of controlling one's emotion for a few hours a day, they would be controlled for thirty days. It was ingenious. But now that genius needed to be put to the test. Quatre wanted to sedate himself. Around Dorothy there was no telling what he would do. Ever since that day they both voluntarily swore off their dosage and sparred, there was an undeniable tension that rose between them and they wanted to fulfill it like normal humans.

"We are traitorous."

"Yes, we are." Dorothy said, and leaned closer to just feel his breath upon her lips. He leaned in, but the noisy prisoner at the door stopped the. The guards held Roddy strongly, almost too strongly, Dorothy and Quatre quickly pulled away.

"Catalonia, I see you've taken my place."

"Well, if it isn't the old mistress of the IOC. I remember when you used to be my superior, now look at you."

"You will always be under me, Catalonia, no matter what position or rank we are in life. You are a dog, go fetch." Roddy spat out.

"I am a dog? Well, we'll see whose fetching for whom when this is all over," Dorothy looked at Quatre with knowing eyes. He took the vial filled with the dosage and put it into a needle gun. The guards held Roddy heavily; her wrists chafed against the heavy metal handcuffs.

"Quatre don't do this. You know it is wrong. You're a doctor. You've felt the freedom or emotion, why do you hide from it so?"

"Roddy, this is an administration of the EmzO² II, better know as the dosage "Emotionless." However, this drug has been heightened to control those that have been off the drug and subsequently for longer periods of time for those that have been on the drug. This is the first testing. I am not sure what the side affects will be, but I am sure that it is safe." Roddy was trying to pull away from her chains and the guards. She was trying to thrust towards Quatre so that he would drop the vial, anything to not have the dosage back in her system. He leaned forward, pressed the needle gun to her jugular and pushed down.

She could feel the dosage flow into her body quickly and burning. Her veins throbbed and tingled. She could feel the medicine run behind her eyes and into her brain, and she could feel it pool. Her head lolled back on her head and she screamed, curdling the ears of all in the room.

"Take her to a mental examination room. Keep her away from sharp objects. I want her on twenty-four observations, suicide watch. These results are important," Dorothy shouted to the guards as they dragged Roddy away.

"I will see you later, Mr. Winner. Keep me informed as to the results."

"The dosage should take effect within twenty-four hours, that's if she doesn't fight it. However, hormonally, she can't fight it. My hypotheses would be that there would be a small relapse for her, which will require a supplementary dosage. Other than that, she will be back to her old self. Heartless, soulless, and loveless."

"Excellent. I will inform Father."


End file.
